The Widower

What is there too say now?
What is there to do this evening?
Nothing for I am without you,
I remember you, when my eyes first looked upon your brow and beautious eyes,
Your luxurious features and a heart of gold and platnium,
I am lost in a garden of cluelessness, and lost and forgotten.
My heart aches and shivers in the lone days of the mid December evenings,
You are gone and lost without a single trace,
But soon I had lost you for good and could never find you again,
I buried you in the gardens of the dead,
and the tears from my broken heart showered your grave.
Oh now I wish you were here,
To listen to my heart,
For it is out of tune and the orchestra is playing a slow melody,
and the chimes ring me to the dinner table,
To eat alone the lonely supper for the mourning of my woman.
So I eat alone tonight,
The house is quiet and empty,
The butlers and maids have gone home,
Nothing but lone, empty halls,
Once filled with love and music,
keep me company.
The slow music plays in my study,
I sit in my red chair,
I cry and cry again,
I read a book of poetry and think of you,
Not a life worth living without you.

Oh Dear Christopher, my heart bleeds with this write, sorry for your loss, may you find comfort in sharing your poetry among friends, welcome to poetry soup, and I be the lucky one who stopped by, I like your verse xxx